Right Out of the Oven

When I got to the VA Primary Care Clinic this morning, this wrinkled old white dude shouted, “SMILE!” at me. Nobody’s ever done that before, although I knew it would happen, eventually. I turned in his direction before I’d processed what he said, because I had heard a loud noise (him barking at me). Once I understood what he’d said, a split second later, my face showed my irritation with him before I turned back to what I was doing. As I was looking away, I saw him turn to an equally old and white comrade, and say, “she doesn’t wanna smile.”

I didn’t have the time or the energy to get into it with him right then, but I did resolve, next time, to say something back. I’ve come up with a canned line that I think will work, something along the lines of, “oh, I’m sorry, sir, we’re all out of smiles, but I do have this fresh middle finger for you.”